


You're A Work Of Art, Dean Winchester

by castiel_lightwood



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Photographer!Dean, artist!Cas, destiel au, drawing model!dean, nudity but no smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiel_lightwood/pseuds/castiel_lightwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas Novak is nearing the end of his university art degree, and his topic is human form. His new life drawing model is the perfect and gorgeous Dean Winchester, who Cas can't wait to draw. However, their feelings for each other may cause problems in the art studio; and Cas has promised himself that he will never date any of his models.<br/>artist!cas drawing model!dean destiel AU</p><p>(my first uploaded fic and I had no idea what to write as a summary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Perfect Model

Cas Novak wasn’t bragging when he said he was a brilliant artist. It was a fact; just like how his eyes were blue, or his deep love for burgers. His art had always been a part of him, from the days of messy finger painting to his current university degree.

Now nearing the end of his course, he’d already made quite a lot of money from selling his art and doing commissions. He worked in all media, and would give anything a try once, producing tiny detailed drawings but also impressionist pieces on wall sized canvases. His landscape paintings (both rural and urban themed) had made him a lot of money which helped him afford the rent of his small apartment which doubled as his art studio.

But without a doubt, Cas’s favourite subject for his art was human form. He painted and drew with a scientific eye, observing how the different parts of the body fitted together, how they moved in relation to each other. He loved the curves and lines of the human body, the contrast between soft fat and hard muscle, and the tiny details that were different between every single person he drew.

Cas knew that being a human form artist wouldn’t provide him with a decent living; people didn’t often want to buy huge canvases of naked people. And besides, Cas found the whole process of life drawing incredibly personal; there was a strong link between the artist and the model and each of his drawings had memories attached to them.  
So because of this, he was doing the final project for his degree on human form. To do the most life drawing and human form pieces as he could, to enjoy the art form while he could before moving onto commissions that he could actually make money from.

The walls of Cas’s studio and apartment were covered with his drawings; huge painted canvases contrasting with smaller detailed drawings on textured brown paper. Having so many nudes on his walls may have seemed odd and possibly perverse, but he loved seeing his artwork, and to be able to appreciate the bodies he’d drawn long after they’d had the drawing session. Seeing what he’d done before also helped him to know what to do next and how to improve. It was no different, in his eyes, to covering his walls with his other art, such as his landscapes or natural form pieces.

All Cas’s models were volunteers as he didn’t make enough money to pay them (he might have been a wonderful artist, but he was still a student with bills to pay and his degree to fund). However, if he ever sold any of his pieces, which he had on a rare occasion or two, he’d send them a percentage of the profit. But otherwise, there was very little to get out of modelling for Cas, and he often wondered why they volunteered for it.

Many people came simply for the experience; others came because they felt sorry for him and wanted to help him out. Over the last few months, one or two people (and Cas always blushed at the memories) had come because they hoped to chat him up while they sat naked in front of him. He’d always been very professional and had never ever dated one of his models – this was art, not an opportunity to check out someone’s body.

The doorbell rang, startling Cas. He rinsed his paintbrush, staring for a moment at his current piece. It would probably do as small sketchbook piece, he thought.  
He stirred himself and went to open the door. He’d almost forgotten about his life drawing session that afternoon, he’d been too into his art. He yanked open the door, attempting to school his face into a professional expression.  
And very nearly failed.

The guy stood on his doorstep was, frankly, perfect. Gorgeous. Beautiful.  
The man’s lips quirked into a small but confident smile and he held out a small piece of paper. “Cas Novak?”

Cas glanced down at the paper, trying to ignore how deep yet melodic this man’s voice was. Focus Cas, he growled at himself.

It took him a moment to work out what the paper said. They were directions to his apartment. Cas coughed and smiled. “That’s me.”

The man’s smile grew, and Cas attempted not to notice how it crinkled the skin around his eyes. He held out his hand. “Dean Winchester. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cas took his hand, noting the contrast between Deans’s perfectly formed clean hands and his own paint splattered ones. He was suddenly aware of how he must look, his dark brown hair unbrushed and sticking out everywhere, clothes covered in smudged fingerprints of pastel and irregular blobs of paint.

He ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to flatten it, trying to smile at Dean calmly. “Hello Dean.”

Dean grinned and dropped the artist’s hand. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas realised he’d been staring at Dean for probably too long. He stepped out of the way, grateful that there wasn’t anything to trip over and held the door open. “Please, come in.”

He showed Dean into his apartment, watching with pride as Dean’s eyes widened with amazement at the artwork on Cas’s walls.  
Dean glanced across at Cas, who was still trying (and failing) to flatten his hair. “This is all your work?”

Cas stopped trying to fix his hair. He could talk about art; it was as easy for him as breathing. He nodded. “It’s all for my degree. Some of it needs extra work, but –”

“I don’t think they do,” Dean murmured and Cas raised his eyebrows. He pointed at one piece. “The shadow in this one isn’t right.” Dean squinted. “And this one, I’m not happy with the colours.”

“They look pretty perfect to me,” Dean admitted and Cas’s heart jumped at the compliment.

“Not an artist, are you?” Cas asked and then bit his lip, realising how it must have sounded.

But Dean’s lips just quirked slightly again. “I’d call myself an artist of a kind. I’m just not a perfectionist like you.”

Cas frowned. “How does that even work?”

Dean shrugged, “Sometimes good enough is good enough.”

“Huh” was all Cas could reply. Where had his eloquence gone? More importantly (and he felt panic building in his chest), he couldn’t remember how he normally asked them to take their clothes off. How would he cope seeing this man – Dean – naked?

Dean didn’t seem to notice the effect he was having on Cas. After glancing at Cas for permission, he walked around the room, marvelling at the artwork.  
Cas took the opportunity to study Dean. His soft red leather jacket fitted tightly across his broad shoulders, and Cas could see his muscles straining beneath it. He’d have to draw Dean’s back and shoulders, he thought. He wondered how he’d do it, which media, which techniques he’d use. He took a deep breath, learning that thinking about Dean that way both helped and hindered his thoughts and judgement.

He also had a black and red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, and a grey beanie. Cas had never seen anyone look so good in a beanie – few people he actually knew could pull the off. But, Cas thought cynically, Dean could probably pull off anything; he’d probably look good in a bin liner.

Cas’s artist eyes drifted down to Dean’s legs. He was bow legged, Cas realised, noting how the imperfection merely added to Dean’s natural beauty; if his body had been any less flawless, it would have looked fake. Cas had drawn all body types over the last few months; skinny bodies, bodies rolling with fat, males and females alike. But he’d never had the opportunity to draw a body like Dean’s.

Suddenly he couldn’t wait to draw Dean, regardless of how seeing him without the disguise of clothing would make him feel. Cas was an artist first and foremost, and he would make Dean into a piece of art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!  
> this is my first posted destiel fic so I hope its okay and I haven't murdered the characters in any way. I've got plans for this to turn into a multi chapter fic, and hopefully I should be able to post them quite regularly (I suck at chapter titles too I'm sorry)  
> (also, a degree is basically what you get at the end of your university (college) course - I don't know what the equivilant is called in America or outside the UK)  
> please let me know what you think of it! any feedback is always very welcome (my tumblr url is kittiecas)


	2. The First Time Is Always The Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Cas draws Dean - and Dean has a few problems of his own

Cas waited for Dean to come out of his bedroom, where his models always got changed. He was calmer now, trying to think about Dean as an artist would, rather than how he would as a man. There was also a huge possibility that Dean wasn’t even interested in guys; but with looks like that he could have anyone he wanted, regardless of his or their sexuality.  
No, he was an artist. He wouldn’t ruin this opportunity to draw and paint such a physically perfect and interesting body by trying to flirt with Dean. He’d made himself a promise when he’d started this project and he would keep to it; these people were models and they were to be respected and thanked for helping him. They weren’t people for Cas to flirt with. They were off limits.

He straightened the paper on his desk, and checked all his pencils were sharpened, but that the tips were broken enough to be able to use effectively. Like he always did, he’d start with some quick pencil sketches to warm up and get used to his subject’s body. Working from life was very different to working from photographs or from his mind, as the light was always changing and there was also the strangely comforting pressure of another person being present.

He refused to look round at the bedroom door until he had heard it open and heard Dean’s footsteps. He wouldn’t let the nauseous yet excited feeling he’d had before he’d calmed himself down come back by imagining Dean coming out of the door and –

He heard the hinges creak slightly and he jumped, suddenly worried about what could happen. His pulse had rocketed, and he hoped that his face was white with panic rather than bright red with embarrassment. Gripping a pencil to calm him down, he took a deep breath and turned to face Dean.

He’d worn the robe, thank god, and it covered most of him, except his calves and knees and the middle of his torso where the belt didn’t quite close it fully.

Dean gave a small smile. “I’m a bit nervous,” he admitted.

“First time?” Cas asked, surprised at how steady and (thankfully) how sincerely concerned his voice sounded.

Dean shrugged. “Not really. Just, I haven’t done this recently.”

Cas nodded. “That’s okay. Take your time – or I can draw you like this,” he gestured to Dean’s robe, trying to crush his disappointment at not being able to draw Dean’s pure naked body.

But thankfully, Dean shook his head. “No, I won’t do that to you. Not when I’ve seen how amazing your art is.” He glanced around the room at the nudes, and it seemed to relax him. Cas had clearly seen everything before, and the way he treated his models’ bodies was almost... reverent. He didn’t have anything to worry about. And besides, he always had a small amount of nerves before any drawing session – this was no different.

Dean took a deep breath and pointed to the chair a little way in front of Cas’s desk. “You want me here?”

“If you don’t mind.” Cas’s mind was a whirr. This was happening. He was going to draw Dean.  
Then he realised something and coughed, “sorry, I forgot to ask, is it hot enough in here? I can turn the heating up if you want –”

“I’m hot enough already,” Dean replied, and then blushed when he realised what he’d said.

Cas just grinned, and seeing Dean’s blush calmed him down measurably. Dean wasn’t completely infallible; he was a person just like himself, capable of saying embarrassing things and blushing.  
And then Cas remembered that he wasn’t supposed to concentrate on his model’s personality, but on their body and his smile wavered slightly. He looked down, finding comfort in the soft shade of brown of his paper. Focus Cas.

He saw movement is peripheral vision and heard to soft thump of fabric falling onto the floor. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and looked up.  
Dean was even more perfect than he’d imagined.

-

As a model, Dean wasn’t really meant to watch the artist working; he was supposed to concentrate on staying as still as he could for Cas to draw, to immerse himself in the experience and disconnect from the room. But he couldn’t help it. From the corner of his eye he could see Cas, his hands moving the pencil across the page as if it was an extension of his arm. The keen glances up at Dean that he made every few seconds, memorising Dean’s body, noting the curves and lines, the soft areas and the hard muscles. Dean couldn’t see what he was drawing, but Cas was incredibly quick, his pencil skimming the paper like a gentle caress.

For the first pose, Dean had sat facing Cas but at a slight angle, one leg crossed over the other, his hands resting gently on top of his thighs. He was starting to wonder if that had been a good idea of not. He hated facing completely away from his artist because he enjoyed watching them work too much. It was one of the reasons he modelled for people, or helped out in the university’s art department in his free periods. He loved being surrounded by art and artistic people, wishing neither for the first time nor the last that he was better at classical art. Some of the stuff the degree students produced was out of this world.

But facing the front did present several problems. Most notably, he couldn’t hide his emotions from Cas; his blush at his earlier comment (how had that slipped out?) or his nervousness when he saw Cas study him for longer than a few seconds. What was the artist thinking?

There was another thing he was unable to hide, and it was more embarrassing than his nervousness or blushing. Dean didn’t know why it happened, whether it was just the adrenaline he got from the experience or something else that he refused to allow himself to think about. It didn’t help that the room was quite warm anyway or that Cas Novak was one of the best looking guys Dean had ever seen, even if he did look like he hadn’t brushed his hair or changed his clothes for about a week (and knowing artists, he probably hadn’t).

Cas coughed, putting his pencil down, and rubbed his eyes. He smiled slightly at Dean, and Dean noticed how his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. Simply from doing a pencil sketch. “I’m happy with that sketch, so would you mind changing pose?” he was so polite compared to some of the artists he’d modelled for – some ordered him around instead of asking.  
Yet another reason to like this Cas Novak guy.

Dean realised he hadn’t replied, and that Cas was staring at him perplexed. He shook himself and tried to smile. “Sure. Any preference?”

Cas shook his head and then hesitated. “I wonder, if you wouldn’t mind, um, facing the back? So I can draw your back?”

Dean nodded, not understanding why Cas’s cheeks were slightly flushed. Did the guy have a back fetish?  
He went to stand up and realised his own problem. How would he explain to Cas what was going on between his legs?

He uncrossed his legs and stood up, turning as quickly as he could. Then he realised he’d have to move the chair. Damn, he cursed, hoping that he wasn’t blushing too strongly. He tried to push the chair away, but it was too heavy. He gave in and lifted it, praying that Cas couldn’t see what was going on.

He glanced at Cas, who’s mouth was slightly open. Clearly not. Dean tried to say something, to do something –

Cas’s eyes raised to his, questioning him wordlessly.

Dean coughed, trying to hide his blush. “I don’t know why it happens, it just does, I –” he gritted his teeth together, “I’m sorry.”

Cas shook his head. “It’s fine, Dean. Most people find it a, er, almost erotic experience.”

“Really?” Dean was amazed. He’d never heard that. He’d thought he was abnormal.

Cas nodded seriously, ever line of his face etched with sincerity. “And sometimes the body doesn’t reflect what’s going on in the mind, either, so just because you’re, y’know, doesn’t mean that you’re necessarily turned on by this.” Dean was amazed by the slight flush growing on Cas’s cheeks. The artist grinned suddenly, a cheeky smile that reflected the sparkles in his eyes. “Besides, it’s not really a problem for you is it?”

Dean tried to stutter a response and failed. But he didn’t feel uncomfortable, or like Cas was unfairly making fun of him. He stepped back into the middle of the room and faced away from Cas, his legs slightly apart. He peaked round at Cas, “is this okay for you?”

“Perfect, Dean,” Cas replied softly and Dean had to turn away to hide the shiver that ran through him at Cas’s words, and his tone. He felt like Cas had caressed him with his words as gently and expertly as he traced his pencil across the paper.

He surrendered himself to the feeling of being drawn, or being scrutinised, and for the first time in a while, he wasn’t embarrassed by his body.

\--

When Dean had left, Cas took a cold shower. Not just because he felt so hot after watching Dean all afternoon, but because he needed to settle his nerves, to calm himself down.  
The coldness of the water gave his thoughts clarity. Dean was perfect, in body and in mind. He was modest about his body, embarrassed even, though Cas saw no reason for him to be. Dean could be a professional model, and yet here he was, volunteering to be a drawing model for Cas. He was so lucky.

He threw his head back, letting the icy water run over his face. Dean was coming back in 3 days time. He’d have to be better prepared by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for not actually writing any drawing in the first chapter, so I decided to post chapter 2 at the same time. Hope you enjoyed it! (please tell me if I need to put a warning on this - its not smut so I didn't think it was necessary ?)  
> as always, feedback is very welcome (and please point out any errors to me, I may have missed some mistakes)


	3. Food Before Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas takes Dean out for lunch

Dean agreed to come to Cas's studio once a week. It was no where near as often as Cas would have liked (he could draw Dean every day and never get bored) but he was worried about pushing Dean too far, or making him uncomfortable. Besides, Dean had his own lectures to attend and work to study.

They'd arranged for 2pm on a Thursday - Dean didn't have any lectures in the afternoon and it gave him enough time to get lunch. And they could have the whole afternoon together, until Cas felt guilty for taking up too much of Dean's time.

One Thursday, Cas opened the door to Dean's out of breath panting, his cheeks flushed from exertion. God, could Dean get any hotter, Cas thought instinctively, but tried to push the thought away before it registered on his face.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked, looking Dean up and down - his panting, the flush in his cheeks, the scuffs on the fronts of his shoes that Dean kept so carefully clean and undamaged, all indicated that Dean had been running.

"Quick after lunch run?" Cas guessed as he showed Dean through the door. 

Dean bit his lip and shook his head. "My lecturer realised we haven't done a lot of the course. It overran."

"So you ran here?" Cas's blue eyes sparkled with confusion. Dean nearly smiled. He didn't realise how perfect he was, how Dean would give anything to be with him all the time -

A tiny smile sneaked out. "I didn't want to let you down"

Cas shook his head in confusion and despair. "Next time just text me. Please. You don't have to rush to be here, honestly, I can fill the time with other work." He frowned. "When did your lecture end?"

Dean glanced at the wall clock "Maybe ten minutes ago?"

"Dean!" Cas exclaimed. "What -" Dean crossed his arms across his chest, which did wondrous things for his forearms, distracting Cas from whatever he'd been about to say.

"I made a deal with you, an arrangement. I can't jeopardise that. Its unprofessional."

"You know what?" Cas suddenly felt reckless, almost angry. Dean had to stop this. His art didn't mean more than Dean's wellbeing. "Screw professionalism. You haven't had lunch, right?"

"Its fine, honest -" Dean began to protest, but Cas cut him off.

"No it isn't. I'm taking you to get lunch."

"Cas -" Dean's voice trailed off uncertainly. He looked almost shyly at cas through his lashes (God dammit Dean didn't have any right to look even more gorgeous). "I don't want to - take you away from art, affect your degree."

"Just an hour, its not going to kill me. Besides, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing art at the expense of your health."

Cas grabbed his coat, a long beige trench coat that was the only thing Dean had ever see Cas wear that wasn't in any way marked with paint. He’d never thought trench coats were particularly flattering, but the way Cas’s was fitted across his surprisingly muscular back made Dean’s throat dry. How wearing more clothes could possibly make someone look even hotter was a mystery to Dean, but that’s what Cas’s trench coat did to him. The sway and flow of the fabric didn’t help either, the way it amplified Cas’s every movement. Every one of Cas’s movements were just as precise as when he drew or painted, which surprised him as Dean stared down at his feet before he noticed more about Cas, before his face heated up with a blush that would be embarrassing to explain.

\--

They went to a small cafe that was one of Cas's favourites. It was small and relatively cheap, but Cas loved the artisan feel of it. The food was really good too, and it catered for students with their low budgets and huge appetites.

Cas was pleased by how Dean's eyes lit up as they entered, taking in the room. They were shown to a window table that overlooked the street. Cas shrugged his coat off and then noticed Dean staring at him. He bit his lip, thinking he should have taken it off in a more attractive way.

He stopped himself there. He wasn't supposed to find Dean attractive, he wasn't supposed to want Dean to think of him that way. 

Clearly taking him out to lunch had been a bad idea.

Dean slipped his leather jacket off, his muscular shoulders emphasized by the tight fitting Henley shirt. Cas gulped, and stared at the table, trying to ignore how gorgeous Dean looked with the top two buttons undone. It should be illegal to look that attractive.

“So what’s good here?” Dean asked, picking up a menu, eyes still roaming the café, drinking in their surroundings.

You, Cas thinks but his eyes snap up to Dean’s immediately, praying to every god he didn’t even believe in that he hadn’t spoken aloud. Thankfully he hadn’t; Dean was now staring at his menu, his face scrunched up slightly with concentration. Cas ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He bit down on his lip, staring at his menu until he became aware of Dean’s gaze on him. His eyes shifted up, catching an unguarded look on Dean’s face. He looked worried, and slightly confused, and something else Cas couldn’t place. He realised that Dean had asked him a question earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Um, literally everything here is great.” Cas replied, trying to focus on the words in front of him. Not like he didn’t have the menu memorised.

He heard a laugh and looked up, catching Dean with crinkled skin around his sparkling green eyes. Cas frowned, and Dean’s breath hitched as Cas’s forehead knotted in confusion. He looked so gorgeous and yet so adorable. Dean wanted to reach out and stroke away the lines on Cas’s forehead, run his fingers through Cas’s tousled hair.

He coughed and tried to smile genuinely. “Come on, you must have a favourite.”

Cas shrugged. “The burgers are amazing. But,” he glanced over Dean’s figure – analytically, with no lust in his eyes – “you don’t look much like a burger man, if I’m honest.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise and shook his head. “I just exercise a lot. At least, when I can. I don’t have much time these days.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas replied, ducking his head in guilt.

Dean looked up, startled. “What? I wasn’t thinking about you. It’s my degree – the lectures take up so much time but I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere…” he trailed off, glancing up at Cas before returning to the menu.

Cas frowned, shifting in his seat as if he was the one who was uncomfortable in this situation, not Dean. “Why did you take history and politics?” Cas was genuinely interested.

Dean shrugged. “I uh, wanted to do art. But I wasn’t good enough. So I don’t know, I just thought maybe history and politics would be interesting.”

“And is it?” Cas asked, already anticipating Dean’s response.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to Cas’s, dark with annoyance that took Cas off guard. Cas opened his mouth to apologise, but Dean’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Cas.” His voice seemed to be purposefully soft. “It’s just – I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Cas smiled, trying to break the tension. “Having lunch with a friend.”

“We’re friends then?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Cas shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant when he was internally screaming. “’Course we are.”

Dean smiled, flashing that perfect grin of his that left Cas speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his words were stuck.

He was saved by the waitress. “Are you ready to order?” She was extremely pretty, and Cas watched Dean anxiously. Would he try and hit on this girl? He’d have no reason not to, there was nothing stopping him from doing it.

Dean smiled at Cas softly, eyes flickering to the waitress briefly. He ordered his food with his eyes flickering between Cas and the waitress, and Cas was too overcome with confusion and want that he didn’t hear what Dean had asked for.

He cleared his throat when he saw the waitress watching him. “Just coffee please.”

“Cas,” Dean reproached him, but Cas held up his hands. “I ate something before. Its fine, honest.”

Dean's lips were pressed tight together, but he didn't say anything. He was so annoyed about ruining Cas's day, messing with Cas's routine, taking him away from his art. He felt so stupid, so unprofessional.

"Dean what's wrong?" Cas asked.

"I feel like an idiot." Dean admitted.

Cas frowned "Why? It wasn't your fault your lecture over ran."

"Yes, but -"

"Stop it, please." Cas pleaded him and Dean bit his lip, trying not to think about how beautiful Cas looked, the light from outside seeping through the window, catching the sparkle in his blue eyes, throwing one half of his head into relative shadow, the form and lines of Cas's face into sharper relief.

The colour of the surroundings worked too, the deep burgundy of the walls and the cream of the curtains and rich brown picture frames complimented the trench coat slung over the back of Cas's chair but contrasted nicely with his navy shirt - probably chosen because it wouldn't show paint marks as easily.

"Dean?" he blinked, and the realised with a horrifying rush what he'd been thinking about.

"Oh, nothing."

Cas frowned "You were in pretty deep. Won't you tell me?"

No he didn't, but with a face like that, so eager and open and so gorgeous he couldn't really say no.

"I was thinking about what a great photo it would make," he admitted, defeated.

Cas was genuinely surprised. "A photo? Of me?"

"Yeah" Dean was worried at first, but then began to smile. Cas didn't think he was photograph worthy. He was so blind.

Cas frowned "why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would it make a good photo?"

Dean began to explain, watching as Cas's eyes grew wider with surprise and then darker with understanding.

"wow" Cas said when he'd finished. "why aren't you doing photography?

"I wasn't good enough."

"Not good enough?" Cas repeated, half confused, half angry. "There are art students in my class who know less about photography than you do."

"You're just saying that."

"Why would I? It doesn't affect me whether you're artistic or not. But you are, you must be." Cas shook his head "I never really got into photography."

"You don't need to," Dean didn't mean to sound as bitter as he did.

"What -" Cas was interrupted by the waitress returning with their coffee. He bit his lip as she poured it, wishing she's go away, forcing a tiny smile up at her as she left. No need to upset anyone.

Dean was tugging at the table cloth slightly, trying to distract himself from whatever Cas was about to say. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going anymore.

Cas cleared his throat and Dean looked up. Cas looked nervous, like he was trying to make a horrific decision. "Would you, uh, mind showing me some of your work?"

"My photographs?" Dean was shocked.

"your artwork, Dean. Just because it isn't classical or traditional doesn't make it any less than that."

Dean was stunned into silence. Cas wanted to see his photography? "I uh, sure. If you want it."

Cas's eyes darkened slightly and Dean swallowed hard, unable to hold his gaze. He drank some coffee, hoping he would be able to distract himself from all the colours in Cas's eyes. He wondered for a brief moment if Cas would let him photograph him, let him show Cas how perfect and beautiful he was -

He had to stop himself there. He was the model here, not Cas. Most likely Cas was just being polite, wanting to show some interest in Dean; it was fair enough he supposed, he did spend more time with Cas than anyone else. But there was no need for it. He was here for Cas's art, not the other way round.

\--

Dean's pepper and chicken pasta came a few minutes later, which was a huge relief. Dean was so hungry, and Cas was struggling for ways to talk to Dean about art without upsetting him. He was clearly hurt that he hadn't got into the art degree course, but Cas couldn't really understand why he hadn't got in. Perhaps he hadn't even applied for the course? But how could he bring that up without seeming rude and uncaring?

He poured himself more coffee, stirring in two spoonfuls of sugar, frowning at the dissolving crystals.

"You like it sweet then?" Dean grinned at Cas and Cas tried to stop himself from grinning back. He should at least pretend to be annoyed at Dean, but he couldn't manage it.

"A little sweetness every once in a while is acceptable, isn't it?" Cas asked, as teasingly as he could manage. He'd always been terrible at flirting and knew he really wasn't meant to flirt with Dean. He had rules for a reason.

Dean grinned, and began eating his pasta. He frowned before his eyes widened with surprise, and Cas struggled not to laugh. And struggled to fight the urge to kiss Dean, or just touch him in any way possible; he was too perfect, too gorgeous.

"Told you everything was good," Cas smiled, taking a sip of his coffee.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Looks like I'll have to come here more often, then."

\--

They ended up talking about the music they liked. Cas had never liked listening to music while he worked, but Dean argued that the melodies actually helped with the creative process, as you could lose yourself in the songs.

Cas shrugged it off to start with, not wanting to upset Dean, but then he saw the friendly challenge in Dean's eyes. He smiled slightly and began arguing back, how silence is all the noise he needed. How music had always distracted him, and how he liked to keep his love of music separate from his artwork.

Dean was into classic rock, which Cas was surprised at. Then again, Dean wasn't really typical of anything. He confused Cas, everything about him seemed different to what he'd expected. How he was really a photographer, not a model. How his body was clearly desired by everyone who saw him (they'd have to be blind not to want him) and yet he wasn't an obnoxious flirt. Quite the opposite. Dean seemed almost, no not ashamed, but humble about his appearance. Cas didn't understand it. But it didn't lessen his feelings for Dean in any way. To his despair, it probably made them worse.

A cough brought him back to reality. He focused in on Dean, realising he'd just been staring at him for God know's how long. Well, this could get awkward.  
Dean was watching him with that almost shy look again, and Cas was worried he had know what he'd been thinking. Dean looked really uneasy.

"Dean, what is it?" He asked, trying to crush the rising nausea.

"You, uh, told me to text you, if I was going to be late."

Cas frowned. He didn't understand. "So?"

"I don't have your number." Dean's flush emphasised his freckles - Cas could fill a whole notebook just drawing his gorgeous cheeks, especially when they blushed like that.

"Oh," Cas realised. "You, mean, you want -"

"If you don't mind, I mean - please." Dean tried to sound decisive, but they both knew this was the most awkward the two of them had ever been. They were hopeless.

Cas took his phone out with shaking fingers and typed Dean's name in, the four letters causing him more problems than any intricate drawing ever had. He was a mess. He handed the phone to Dean, who typed in his number (his fingers not coping much better), saved it, and handed it back. Their hands touched, skin to skin, and Cas was glad of the excuse of taking his phone back - he didn't want to think about the shiver that had involutarily run down his spine at the touch of Dean's hand.

Dean pulled his hand back, mind whirling. What was going on here? He wasn't sure he knew anymore.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He blinked, and took it out.

A message popped up: hello dean

He tried to hide his smile as he replied: hey cas

He heard Cas's quiet laugh and glanced up, catching a flush on Cas's cheeks that only grew more prominent as he realised Dean was watching him. Dean felt his own skin warm, worsening when Cas ran a subconscious hand through his hair. Their gaze held, an electric tension between them that neither of them would admit, stronger than what they'd thought they'd felt when their hands had brushed each other. 

Dean broke it off, looking away with a tiny laugh. "We're like a couple of thirteen year olds."

Cas laughed too, perhaps a little too hysterically, but he was grateful for Dean breaking their staring - or whatever it had been.

"Who's your favourite artist?" Dean asked, trying to finish his pasta. If he could Cas to talk, then he could just listen and eat much quicker.

"Classical or contemporary?" Cas asked for clarification.

Dean shrugged. "Up to you. Both?"

Cas frowned. He named an artist that Dean had never heard of, but then Dean hadn't heard of many - he knew more photographers than artists. "I just love the way he treats form - any form; human, natural, anything - its so... reverent. That's what I try and do."

"You do," Dean replied softly. "Everything you do worships the human form."

Cas smiled genuinely, and it lit up his whole face. Dean was amazed that Cas could repond like that to a compliment he, Dean, the model, a non-artist, had given. But then Cas was special, wasn't he? He'd known that from the very first drawing session. Cas wasn't arrogant like other artists he'd worked with. He was different. He was perfect.

Dean protested when Cas insisted on seeing a dessert menu. He'd eaten enough already, and it would just take more time out of their afternoon.

Cas shrugged and smiled. "I wouldn't mind some pudding, though. And they're always delicious."

Resignedly, Dean agreed to it, rolling his eyes as Cas's bright shining eyes as he scanned the menu, until he glanced down himself and almost immediately drooled. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand just in case.

Cas glanced up. "Something you fancy?"

Dean could only nod.

The waitress returned and Cas spoke first. "Chocolate and coffee cake, please." She smiled at him, and Dean wondered if that was what he always ordered.

Then she turned to him, eyes wide expectantly. He tried to speak without shaking. "Pie, please?"

\--

After suffering Cas's teasings about his love of pie on their way back to Cas's studio, Dean was happy to get on with drawing. He understood where he stood when Cas drew him, what his role was. He was a model for Cas to use and objectify in whatever way he needed. Even though Cas was always so irreverent with what he did.  
They spent the whole afternoon together, Cas actually drawing Dean for much longer than usual. And they were both so happy. Cas's art was some of the best he'd ever produced, and Dean was overawed by the way Cas had taken apart his body and put him back together from lines and shading. Cas worked through mediums; pencil, chalk pastel, charcoal, acrylic paint, and finally the beginnings of an oil painting. It would take a lot of work, he told Dean, but once he had the prelimary sketches he could do some work on it when Dean wasn't there. He had Dean's body engrained in his mind, he understood the lines, the colours and shadows of his skin. He knew the muscles and shapes as well as he knew his own body.

Dean left just after 7pm - Cas would have invited him to stay for dinner and maybe a night in together watching a film, but he knew he'd already pushed the boundaries with Dean taking him out to lunch. He needed to get back to business, needed to stop these feelings he had for his gorgeous model.  
It was easy to think like that when he was alone. But as soon as Dean arrived for their next session, he knew he'd be struggling to restrain his emotions.


	4. Through A Different Lens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shows Cas his photography for the first time

The following Thursday, Dean arrived, eyes wide and his breathing shallow – but Cas knew it was from nerves rather than physical exertion. He had a black camera bag around his neck, but instead of letting it hang, he was clutching it as if he was afraid of it falling. He tried to smile at Cas but it stuck; his lips were too dry.

Once he’d shown Dean inside, Cas turned to him. “We don’t have to do this, if you’re not comfortable.” He searched Dean’s eyes, trying to reassure him.

Dean glanced around the room at Cas’s artwork, at his own naked form on the walls. Cas’s version of him. Cas’s reverent, gorgeous, humbling version of his body. Cas had seen everything of Dean physically, and had not ridiculed or belittled him. He took a deep breath. He was safe with Cas, he could show him. He wouldn’t judge him for what he’d done.

Taking another deep breath, Dean replied, in a slight rush. “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. It’s just…”

“Scary.” Cas nodded, understanding. “Daunting. The fear of being told its all terrible.” He caught the flash of worry in Dean’s eyes and he touched his arm gently to reassure him. “Don’t worry, I won’t say that. Because it won’t be.”

Dean shook his head. “I want you to be honest. I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean.”

“I never do.” Cas frowned. “I promise, I won’t.”

That was what Dean needed apparently, because he took the camera strap over his head, and place his camera, with a hesitating glance at Cas for approval, on Cas’s art desk. Cas pulled another chair up so that they were both on the same side of the table as Dean took his camera out. Cas gasped. He didn’t know a lot about photography but he’d been around enough art students to know that a Canon was an amazing camera.

Dean’s eyes flicked to Cas as he turned it on, the screen lighting up, catching the slight fear that was still present in his eyes. Cas wanted to touch him, to hug him, to tell him it was going to be okay – but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk this, not when Dean was just about to open up a part of himself.

A final deep breath. Then Dean showed the first image to Cas.

Silence.

After a few moments of Cas simply staring, Dean began to panic slightly. “I – I guess it’s terrible, I’m sorry, I’ll put it away –”

Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist. “What? Dean this is –” he couldn’t find the right words. “Perfect.” He breathed and Dean shivered as the words ghosted down his spine.

“R-really?” Dean couldn’t believe it, he felt like he’d gone into shock. This wasn’t happening.

Cas nodded, eyes wide with amazement. “The lighting, the composition, the content – just everything. I can’t –” he shook his head. “There’s nothing I can say, Dean, except that its flawless and better than some of the photography the art students produce.”

Dean began to shake his head, still not believing. Cas took a deep breath and asked tentatively. “Can I, maybe, see another?”

“Sure,” Dean breathed. His fingers shook as he tried to press the “next” button and he couldn’t. Cas gestured an offering, waiting for Dean’s permission to touch his camera. When Dean nodded consent, he pressed as gently as he could. And gasped again.

Black and white photography this time. Cas had always had a thing for black and white, especially when drawing. But seeing it used in photography sent a shiver down his spine. There was something in the rawness of the simplicity of it, the depth that could be gained from the lack of colour, simply from all the shades of white, grey and black. And Dean used it so well.

“Dean,” he shook his head. “You’re so talented. This is –” he didn’t want to repeat what he’d said before, even though he wanted Dean to hear it again. “How did you do it?”

Dean looked surprised. “You want all the technical stuff?”

“Please.”

He began talking about the aperture, and the exposure, and the rule of thirds (which Cas used in his own art), but Cas quickly lost track of what Dean was actually talking about, it was far too technical for him. But watching Dean getting increasingly animated, gesturing excited, his voice rising as he grew more confident – it was the most alive Cas had ever seen him. Art brought him to life. That was obvious to anyone who had eyes.

He caught Dean’s grin. “What?”

“You don’t understand any of it, do you?”

Cas shook his head. “You’re incredible. Absolutely incredible. I don’t know how you even know how to work a camera like that.”

Dean frowned. “It’s just like any art though. You learn how to use your tools – like you with your paintbrushes and pastels and pencils, you use them like they’re an extension of you, just part of who you are.” Dean shrugged. “Surely it’s just the same with a camera.”

Cas had honestly never thought Dean had been more attractive than in this one moment. He was so perfect, so completely right, and Cas just needed to kiss him, but he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, not now, not while they were talking as real equals for the first time.

But god was Dean hot when he talked about art.

“Cas?” Dean was staring at him, forehead creased slightly.

“You’re completely right. You –” Cas tried to work out what he wanted to say. It was strange for him to be on the other side, the one who was being told and taught about art – not that he didn’t talk to the other degree students, but they’d all reached a point where they knew what their own style was, and didn’t need much input from others. But photography… Dean knew more than Cas ever would.

“The way you take photographs, it seems… instinctive. Like, you think about it, the technicalities, but you don’t… struggle to. It’s not a huge thing for you to think about. You…” Cas trailed off, unsure where he was going with this. He was frustrated with himself for being unable to form the words he needed, the words he knew but just couldn’t say.

But Dean’s answering grin was enough for him. It was one of the rare ones that lit up his whole face, that crinkled the skin around his eyes in the most adorable and yet incredibly hot way. “Thank you.”

That was all they needed to say. Dean understood, and Cas knew that. And it made him so stupidly happy, but he couldn’t fight his own smile at Dean’s happiness.

Dean glanced at the clock. “We won’t have time for any of your art.”

Cas frowned. “So?”

Dean laughed. “So you’ve completely forgotten about your degree now, then? One black and white photograph, and you’re gone?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “My art can wait. Right now, I just want to look at yours.”

Dean smiled and nodded, realising that there was no point fighting Cas on this. And besides he wanted to show Cas his photography, especially after the response he’d already had. His confidence was growing every second.

-

They moved to Cas’s sofa which was much more comfortable for both of them. They passed the camera back and forth, Cas asking questions and Dean explaining, Cas following as best he could. They only realised that it was getting late when Cas’s stomach growled unexpectedly. 

Dean glanced at him, interrupting himself. “You okay?”

Cas laughed. “Guess its later than we thought.” He didn’t want to push the boundaries, but wanted Dean to stay, wanted to talk more. “Should I order pizza?”

He saw Dean hesitate, and he feared the worst. Then: “Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Cas waved his comment away as he dug out the menu from under a pile of bills and letters and test colour palettes – he was so disorganised, and Dean found it incredibly endearing. He was so precise with his artwork, and yet in everyday life he was a muddled mess.

They ordered the pizza, and lost themselves in the photographs again, so by the time the doorbell rang they were both startled. Cas paid, despite Dean’s protests, and they ate while talking about art and photography and then moved onto general things like what TV shows they watched. Neither of them wanted to touch Dean’s camera with pizza greasy fingers, and it was nice to take a break from all that, even for a short while, just to get to know each other better. And Cas knew, watching Dean throwing his head back with laughter, a piece of half eaten pizza in his hand, that there was no way that he could go back now, could un-see what he saw in Dean, could stop the feelings he had for his gorgeous model and now friend. It was like a cliff, and for a while he’d been standing at the edge, peering over, not quite knowing what was over it, but now he’d thrown himself off it, and he was in freefall, unable to go back, and unable to stop himself from hitting what was below. But whether it was solid ground, or an open abyss, he didn’t know yet.  
He didn’t know if he should be worried that at this point, he didn’t care what it was. He was just going to enjoy the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!   
> I apologise if any of my photography/camera knowledge is wrong - I've always been more into classical art like Cas than photography  
> as always any comments are very welcome, and if there are any typos/errors please let me know!


	5. A New Composition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas agrees with Dean's idea to add another element into Cas's compositions

Cas frowned at the piece in front of him as Dean slipped back into his robe. Dean came round the table to look over his shoulder. Cas’s skin prickled pleasurably at their closeness, even though it wasn’t unusual - he liked Dean to see what he’d done.

Dean had noted Cas’s frown and studied the drawing - charcoal today - and then the artist’s face.

"What’s wrong?" Dean asked quietly, making Cas jump as he interrupted his thoughts.

"I’m not sure," Cas admitted. "It feels… too still."

"Hmm," Dean felt bad, inadequate, for criticising Cas’s art. He frowned. "Maybe you need something else in the piece -"

Cas grinned at a sudden image. “You want to hold an apple or something? A bunch of grapes?”

Dean shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “No, something with movement of its own…” an idea struck him, but he was tentative. “What about - some material?”

Cas’s frown deepened and he immediately tried to take it back. “I mean, its just -“

"No, its a good idea." Cas’s voice was soft with thought. He glanced up at Dean. "Its a great idea. Brilliant. But what kind of material? Clothes? I can’t quite picture it."

"Maybe something flowing… and have it draped over me." A flash of inspiration. He grabbed his phone from where it sat on Cas’s desk, humming unconsciously as he searched the internet for something, aware of Cas watching him, perplexed.

He found it, and turned his phone to Cas. “Material shop. Its across town, but…”

"We could go tomorrow?" Cas suggested, but his inflection at the end let Dean know it was definitely a question.

Dean tried to hide his smile. “Sure. I have a lecture until 2, but then I’m free.”

Cas glanced at his noticeboard - the only way he could “remember” anything was by having it all written down. “I’m free all day.” He tried to hide how happy he felt, but wasn’t completely sure he’d succeeded.

Cas struggled to concentrate on anything after Dean had left, his mind full of happiness and hopes for the following afternoon.

—

Cas hated it when art shops encased their products in plastic. How was he meant to know if the paintbrush bristles were the right softness, or what the weight of it was and how it fitted in his hand? How was he meant to decide what to buy?

He normally went to an art shop that was closer to his apartment, but he had some time to kill before meeting Dean. He sighed, probably too loudly as it earned him a glare from the shop assistant. Well. If they were going to be like that.

The door slammed shut behind him as he glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes. He resigned himself to wait outside the material shop, heart thumping in his chest. He really shouldn't be this nervous.

\--

Dean was running late. Yet again, his lecture had over ran. But instead of running, he texted Cas to tell him he'd be slightly late. He walked quickly though, not wanting to make Cas wait too long.

It was only about 3:30 and it was a summer’s day, but the sky was already darkening – Dean was worried about there being a huge thunderstorm, which weren’t uncommon for this time of year.

By the time he reached the material shop it was nearly 4 o’clock, and the sky was worryingly dark. He hurried along the street, worried about Cas waiting outside in the rain. Or maybe he was waiting inside, keen to stay out of the worst of the weather.  
Dean turned the corner and saw a familiar figure standing next to the shop. He smiled, ready to rush forward, and then he froze. The light from the street lamp was illuminating the soft haze in the air - it wasn't quite rain, but there was definitely moisture - to create a loose circle around Cas's head. A halo. Dean grinned and pulled his camera out, only pausing for a moment before taking the photograph. Cas wouldn't mind, not if he saw how gorgeous the light settings and the composition were. Not to mention how gorgeous the subject of his photograph was.

He took four photographs, all on different exposures and one in black and white, before putting his camera away and walking to meet the artist.

Cas turned as Dean got closer, recognising the footsteps. His cheeks were flushed from the cool breeze, his trench coat clearly not keeping him that warm.

“You could have waited inside.” Dean said as a greeting, smiling despite his words.

Cas shook his head. “Wouldn’t have known what to do.” He looked at the shop anxiously and Dean found it incredibly endearing. Every time he found something out about Cas that he couldn’t do or didn’t know, it made him even more human and real. Less distant, less like an isolated artist and more of a man of whom only one aspect was an artist. One component of a composition.

Once inside, Cas was overwhelmed by the colour. It was so vivid and varied, he didn’t know where to look, where to focus. He turned to Dean helplessly, who was staring around him with a look of wonder. He took a few photographs on his camera, focusing on the contrasts between the colours of the huge swathes of fabric. Yes, they’d definitely come to the right place.  
It was a small shop with only one shop attendant at any given time. She was currently helping another customer, so Cas and Dean looked round themselves.

And then Cas found it.  
It was obscured by a deep red fabric, and that was the only reason Cas had noticed it. The red reminded him of Dean’s jacket, and he’d been just about to point it out when he noticed the fabric behind.  
It was the same green as Dean’s eyes.  
Well, one of the greens. His eyes were a gorgeous mix of green hues that even Cas didn’t know the names for all of them. He’d wanted to paint Dean’s eyes but he’d worried that it was too personal, too intimate. He laughed at himself. Because drawing someone’s naked body was definitely far less intimate that drawing their eyes.

“This one?” Dean ran his fingers through the fabric, loving the way it almost floated over his skin, and yet still had substance to it.

“What do you think?” Cas bit his lip. He loved it, but Dean had to be comfortable.

Dean’s eyes sparkled. “I love it. I think it’s perfect.”

They worked out that four metres would be enough to play around with what they wanted. Dean refused to let Cas pay for all of it, saying that it was his idea and that he should at least pay some of it. Cas agreed eventually, but only because he’d bought them both coffee the other day when they’d both needed to catch the bus to the university. Not that coffee cost anywhere near what the material did.

“It’ll be worth it,” Dean promised Cas as they left the shop. I’ll make it be worth it, he promised himself.  


—  


Dean went back to Cas’s studio with him because they wanted to have a trial run, to see if it would be worth pursuing the following week. Cas made coffee as Dean got ready, wanting to warm them both up after the horrible weather outside. He turned the heating up, and leaned against the radiator warming his hands. Dean came in with his robe on, and Cas hesitated. How were they going to do this?

“How about you tell me a pose, and then put the fabric around me?” Dean suggested, noting Cas’s hesitation.

Cas nodded gratefully and asked Dean to face the back, his legs slightly apart. His right arm hung loosely at his side but his left was placed across his body, his left hand resting on his right shoulder.

Cas had never been this close to Dean when he was naked. He knew every line of his body, had scrutinised every millimetre of skin and muscle and bone - and yet he’d never felt that his emotions were as exposed to Dean as in this one moment. It was too intimate, too dangerous. But he found he didn’t care.

He handed Dean one end to hold in his left hand, amazed at how steadily Dean accepted it. Since Dean had revealed he was a photographer, Cas had forgotten slightly what a perfect model he was. He couldn’t have wished for more.

The fabric covered Dean’s upper torso, before wrapping round his left shoulder and crossing to his right hip. It left his right shoulder and some of his back exposed, and after adjusting the fabric slightly, Cas was happy. He wrapped the rest around Dean’s right leg, letting the remaining fall to the floor at his foot. He was glad he was behind Dean because then he couldn’t see Cas’s blush at being so close to his naked body.

It was a relief to go to his drawing table. He began with pencil sketches, but added coloured pencil to some of them, trying to work out how to draw Dean’s body through the fabric, and not let the green completely obscure the gorgeous muscle below.

Cas could have kept going, but after forty minutes he realised that Dean probably needed to go. He spoke hesitantly. “Um, I think I’m done.”

Dean unwrapped the fabric and pulled his robe on, folding the material and placing it on a chair. He came round the Cas’s side of the table, looking over his shoulder. His breathe caught.  
Cas looked up anxiously. “I’ve still got to work out how to do properly, but -“

“Cas its gorgeous.” Dean exhaled.

“Oh,” his nose screwed up adorably and he squinted. “You think?”

“Honestly, I love it. Why, don’t you?” Maybe he’d done the wrong thing, maybe this wasn’t what Cas wanted -

“No,” the artist’s eyes sparkled. “I love it. Its…” he paused, biting his lip. “Its definitely what I needed. Thank you.”

Dean smiled softly, so insanely happy that it had worked, that Cas loved it. He couldn’t have asked for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for sticking with my writing and these characters! still a few more chapters to go until I'm finished  
> as always, any comments are greatly appreciated and please point out any mistakes that I've missed!


	6. Art and Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They start using the fabric as part of the compositions which both of them love. But Cas's feelings for Dean start becoming a problem and he doesn't know what to do

Cas quickly fell in love with the translucency of the fabric, loving how it shrouded and yet emphasised Dean’s body. It wasn’t long before they were back at the material shop buying more fabric; a piece of white so that Cas could try black and white mediums, but also a soft burgundy and a deep purpley-blue (midnight blue?) colour, both which went surprising well with Dean’s skin.

Dean enjoyed this new way of working. He loved the amount of care and attention Cas put into his compositions, looping and draping the material over him. He supposed he should have felt embarrassed about have Cas’s hands so close to his naked skin, but he wasn’t - Cas had seen him like this enough times now for Dean to be comfortable. Still, it didn’t stop the warm shivers that ran through his body whenever Cas’s fingers accidentally brushed his skin.

They increased their sessions to twice a week; Monday night and Thursday afternoon. On Mondays Dean would bring dinner after he realised that otherwise Cas probably wouldn’t eat anything all night. He got too caught up in his artwork that some days all he had was cold coffee and a few biscuits when he suddenly remembered to eat before getting distracted again.  
Cas’s apartment had a small kitchen, and Dean would leave things to cook up in the oven while he showed Cas the photography he’d taken that week, or talked with Cas about his plans for the evening’s session.

Dean always tried to leave some things that Cas could eat easily - cereal bars, biscuits, pot noodles. He’d feel much more confident then that when he arrived on Thursday Cas wouldn’t be passed out from hunger.

Cas wasn’t completely hopeless. When he went into university he’d come back via the supermarket and fill his bag with food and anything else he needed. But, and despite his protests, he was secretly extremely grateful to Dean bringing him food and reminding him to eat.

His end of year deadline was quickly getting nearer, and he was thrown into an almost mad frenzy of producing and finishing artwork, trying to complete his sketchbooks with annotations about work he’d done months ago.

His two or three hours with Dean twice a week were his moments of peace. Dean calmed him, it grounded him to hear about photography, or to settle into the routine of drawing his body. He didn’t really need any more life drawing, but his pieces were just getting better and better and more interesting - and he didn’t ever want to stop.

They’d reached a level domesticity that Cas both loved and was terrified of. It would have been so easy for Dean to just move in with him (his heart quickened whenever he thought of that) but he had no indication that this was abnormal, that Dean wouldn’t do this for any of his other friends. All Dean brought him was their dinner once a week and some additional food. Sure, seeing Dean using his kitchen made him flush with affection, but that didn’t mean that this was any more than a platonic relationship. They were just friends, nothing more.  
And he couldn’t ruin the best friendship he’d ever had.

It sent him spiraling in the times that Dean wasn’t there, and he threw himself into drawing with an intensity he’d never experienced before. He needed to distract himself from the feelings he had, because neither of them really had time for this - Cas had his deadline and Dean had his exams. And then they’d both be gone from the university - Dean to some job somewhere else while Cas stayed in his studio to produce art to make money.

On Monday, Dean brought chicken pie and they looked at the photos he’d taken in the park that morning on the way to his lecture. The contrasts in the monochrome made the simple flowers and leaves look alien and dramatic. He’d taken full colour images too, and the vibrancy of the hues made him gasp. Dean smiled at him, and Cas had to look away before he got too caught up in it. He couldn’t have this, he told himself, and Dean noticed that he was distinctly more reserved during dinner and their drawing session after. He put it down to the stress Cas was under.

By Wednesday, Cas was miserable. His art was getting worse because he was unable to concentrate. He went to get something to eat from the kitchen, but seeing the food Dean had brought him make him feel sick, because it taunted him with a relationship that he could never have. He threw his coat on and went out to get a break from this studio that screamed so much of his model - Dean’s figure was all over the walls, but it was more than that. It was the memories etched into every room.

He couldn’t face going to the cafe he’d taken Dean to despite how much he loved it. He wandered into town and ate at a new coffee shop, but all he could see were a million things that Dean would love, or things that Dean would point out to him. He finished his meal as quickly as he could and left, feeling considerably worse than before. He went back to his apartment and shut himself in his bedroom away from his artwork and curled up in bed, trying to ignore how hopeless and miserable he felt, and, when he failed that, letting his emotions crash over him and allowing the tears to slid from his eyes onto the sheets, where they stained the pale blue fabric darker, an ocean of despair seeping out into everything he had.

-

Thursday morning came and Cas realised how messed up for today he was.

He should have called Dean and told him he was ill. Because when he saw the familiar red jacket coming through his front door, that gorgeous smile and those perfect eyes, he lost any strength he’d scraped together that morning. His fingers had shaken obviously when he draped the blue fabric over Dean, though his model hadn’t said anything.

Holding a paintbrush didn’t calm him either, nor did the gentle mixing of paint to get the perfect colour. Because every time he relaxed slightly, he would look up and see Dean and then his will would crumple again and the shaking would return.

He was working too slowly, and yet nothing he produced was even half decent. He tried to work faster, but then they just got worse and worse -

Cas threw down his paintbrush and hid his face in his hands.

There was a moment’s silence and then Dean asked “Cas? Are you okay?”

Cas moved one hand slightly so he could peak at Dean. The concern etched across his face didn’t help him at all. Dean was perfect, too perfect, and he couldn’t be with him.

“I’m sorry Dean, I can’t.” He hid his face again, hating how upset he sounded. He used to be a professional, he remembered that. Dean had taken his professionalism and had crushed it into the ground.

“What is it, Cas? You can’t draw? Do you want me to change position?” His concern physically hurt Cas and he had to look away.

But the words bubbles out before he could stop them. “No, Dean, you’re perfect, its me, I -” he stood, forcing his chair back and walked away from Dean, facing away from him so he couldn’t see how much this was torture for him.

“Cas,” he heard Dean’s movement behind him: a pause and then hurried walking. “What’s wrong?” Cas refused to turn, refused to look at this too perfect man. He froze as Dean’s hand rested on his shoulder. “Cas please, look at me.”

Dean’s pleading made it impossible for Cas to refuse. He turned, his unhappy eyes rising to meet Dean’s gorgeous green ones.

Dean had thankfully put his robe on, but being so close to him, Dean’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t much better. In fact, it was probably worse.

“Dean, I can’t look at you. I can’t draw you anymore.”

Hurt flickered through Dean’s eyes. “Are you bored of me?”

“No!” How could he explain that it was the opposite, that he wanted so much from Dean that he could never have?

“I can’t draw you anymore. I can’t look at you like an artist - I see you too much. And - I -” he looked down helplessly, his emotions too conflicted and strong for him to be able to coherently say what he felt.

Dean’s eyes flickered with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Cas looked up helplessly, noting how close Dean was, how the freckles on his face stood out, wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch one, to brush his fingers across Dean’s skin -

He took a shuddering breath, trying to force those thoughts away. He couldn’t think like that, he shouldn’t, he couldn’t ruin this -

Dean’s fingers ghosted Cas’s chin. Although the touch was incredibly faint, Cas’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting Dean’s in shock.

His eyes were so green, so perfect. They sparkled, even when they were laced with worry and something else, something Cas couldn’t quite place because he was wrong, he was so wrong -  
The tips of Dean’s long fingers were still touching his chin. Cas tried to swallow, to ignore how this made him feel. “Dean, I -” he began, not sure what he was going to say.

“Cas -” Dean’s voice was shaky and unsure, as if he was fighting an emotion. His brilliant green eyes flickered to Cas’s uncertainly, and he bit his lip softly. Cas let out a tiny frustrated groan, surprised at how Dean’s eyes darkened suddenly. Dean took a shaky step forward, closing the gap between them. Cas’s eyes were wide with fear and anticipation, as he realised what Dean was going to do, and he breathed in in surprise. Dean’s hand under Cas’s chin shifted, his thumb moving to stroke Cas’s cheek, smiling softly as it touched a smudge of paint on the artist’s skin. He lifted his gaze back to Cas, who looked as if he either about to pass out or run away. Dean frowned “I thought -” he gulped, his hand moving away from Cas’s face slightly, his fingers not leaving his skin but the pressure was incredibly light. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

Cas covered Dean’s hand with his own, trying to breathe steadily. “I - do, Dean. I - want - y-you.” He closed his eyes. “but I doubt you really want me.”

There was silence. “Cas, look at me.” Dean sounded almost angry. Cas’s eyes snapped open. Dean was staring at him in utter disbelief. “You think I don’t want you too?”

“I-” Cas didn’t know what to do, what to say. How could he think clearly with Dean touching his face, his face so close that Cas could probably count all his freckles, or finally work out how many colours were in Dean’s eyes, or -

Dean leaned forward and Cas’s thoughts disappeared. They were nose to nose, foreheads almost touching, lips too close. “you’re so blind, Cas Novak,” Dean whispered, before closing the distance and bringing their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was it just me screaming at them to just kiss already?!  
> thank you so much for reading <3


	7. Everything Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> follows on from the previous chapter - just a short chapter of concentrated happiness

They didn’t do any more drawing that Thursday.

Dean went to Cas’s bedroom to get dressed, but only after five minutes of Cas kissing him trying to persuade him to stay. Dean had grinned and kissed him firmly, but his eyes promised more as soon as he was more adequately clothed. Only then had Cas finally let him go.

Cas was unsure what to do with himself and stood in his studio room, grinning so much that his face could have split open. Dean had kissed him. _Dean Winchester has kissed him_.

He walked round, smiling at everything and nothing. But then he became worried about Dean thinking he was trying to rush him so sat down at his art table. But that wouldn’t do either, because where would Dean sit? On another chair? The table?

He piled the bills and letters that were scattered over the sofa and sat down, but was unable to relax into the cushions. He needed Dean with him to convince himself that this was real, that he hadn’t dreamed the last few minutes. He kept expecting himself to wake up.

He heard the gentle creak of his door and tensed. Dean appeared in his view at last, and for a moment they just stared at each other, both hesitant, no wanting to push the other.

Cas’s peripheral vision noted Dean’s clothing; a plain black t-shirt and dark blue jeans. God, he was so gorgeous. Perfect.

His thoughts were halted as Dean crossed the room to him and Cas sat forward instinctively, wanting Dean as close to him as quickly as possible. Dean leaned forward to brush his lips against Cas’s but the artist's hands reached for his t-shirt, pulling him down and somehow they ended up sprawled on the sofa together kissing.

Dean pulled away, laughing breathlessly, and adjusted himself so he was sat next to Cas properly before gathering the artist up in his arms and holding him, his head buried into Cas’s shoulder.

He breathed in the smell of paint and paper, the soft cotton of Cas's shirt. The scent of his shampoo from where his hair curled round at the base of his neck. Cas, just the comforting steady scent of Cas.

He pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, worried as the artist tensed, before relaxing as Cas's hand stroked through Dean's hair, his other sliding down Dean's back feeling his hard muscles through his thin t-shirt. Cas kissed Dean's forehead, his lips lingering on his skin and that was all it took for Dean to look up and meet Cas's eyes, and he registered the love in the shining blue. He couldn't believe it, not even now when he was curled up in Cas's arms, that he wanted him, that he was worthy of his love.

"Cas?" he murmured, eyes warm with feeling and all Cas wanted to do was kiss him, but he had to know what Dean had to say.

"Yeah?" his voice was just as quiet.

"I love you." his voice shook slightly but his eyes were steady, insistent.

Cas realised he was holding his breath, unable to say anything. Dean loved him. How did Dean love him?

He exhaled, his words surprising calm considering the strength of emotions he felt. "I love you too. God knows I love you."

Dean's green eyes, shining brighter than anything Cas had ever seen before, were the last things Cas saw before closing his eyes and surrendering to Dean's lips.

-

They stayed on the sofa but slowly moved apart slightly. They held hands, and the simple contact made both their hearts swell with affection. Because they could finally touch each other, finally be fully comfortable in each others personal space.

They talked quietly, but often their words would disappear into a gentle brush of fingertips against the back of the other's hand, which almost always lead to more soft kisses. Cas tried to keep his hands and lips off Dean, he really did - but he felt drunk on Dean, on the scent and feel of him; and he was glad that Dean seemed to feel the same way.

As always they lost track of time, and too soon it was dark outside. Cas shuffled closer to Dean and leaned his body into Dean's torso, tucking his head under Dean's chin. Dean smiled and kissed the top of his head.

"You want to go out for dinner?" Dean asked, running his fingers through Cas's hair.

He couldn't see Cas's expression but he smiled as he felt the artist shift beneath him. "Or we could just stay here..." Dean suggested, his smile growing as Cas obviously relaxed.

"Lets do that," Cas turned to kiss Dean, eyes shining with a silent thank you. Dean understood him so well.

Dean stood up, pulling Cas with him, and went to see what food Cas had in. He crouched to look through the fridge, aware of Cas leaning against the counter next to him. He glanced up, and caught Cas's tender expression.

"You're beautiful," Cas said softly.

Dean smiled teasingly. "You think compliments will get me to make you dinner?" He placed a packet of chicken on the counter, pulling Cas towards him. "Well, its working," he murmured into Cas's ear, planting a kiss to his cheek.

Cas grinned and began fetching the vegetables and spices that Dean needed to cook with.

-

Dean stayed a lot longer than normal after they'd eaten - he didn't want to leave and Cas wasn't in any hurry to get rid of him either.

Eventually Dean glanced at the clock on the wall and said almost guiltily "I should probably go."

"Yeah." Cas replied with such little enthusiasm that Dean laughed, but he stood up and Cas reluctantly handed him his jacket.

Cas smoothed down the lapels of Dean's jacket but pulled him forward gently. He pressed his lips softly to Dean's and closed his eyes, memorising the feel of it, the taste, the sheer sense of right in their movement. He was memorising the perfection that was Dean.

Their lips separated and they rested their foreheads together, eyes still half closed.

Then Dean smiled and murmured, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Cas smiled and pulled back, opening the door. "Tomorrow," he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! I'll get back onto the story itself now <3


	8. The Camera Doesn't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dean begins to take photographs of cas which cas is embarrassed by at first, but over time he gets used to it and likes it

They met every day, whether at Cas's apartment or at university or in one of their favourite coffee shops. Cas went to Dean's flat a couple of times and met Dean's flat mates, who were thankfully not bothered by Dean bringing home his boyfriend, and Cas joined in with their group dinners.

It was so easy for the two of them to love each other, natural even. They found that each other had so much more to give than they ever could have imagined.

But by far, their favourite new aspect was Dean's photography.

It started small and insignificant. Dean brought his camera with him one day to show Cas a photo he'd taken and he opened the door with his own key that Cas had given him. Cas hadn't heard him and Dean hadn't wanted to interrupt him. He'd paused at the door, watching the artist being fully absorbed in his work. He took a few photos before Cas looked up and realised he was there. Cas had flushed red with embarrassment and Dean had hesitated, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Dean had agreed to be Cas's model, but they hadn't discussed it going the other way.

Cas had taken a deep breath. "Can I see?"

Dean had stared at him speechless for a long moment before stuttering out a "sure". He passed his camera to Cas - he trusted Cas enough to know that he wouldn't damage it - and waited nervously for Cas's response. He hadn't felt this way for ages, from long before they'd started dating. He didn't like uncertainty around Cas. He was Dean's rock, he grounded him: and Dean knew it worked the other way too.

Cas looked up at Dean nervously. "This is... Really what I look like?"

"Yeah," Dean replied softly, noting the vulnerability in Cas's eyes. "Except to me, you're even more beautiful than this."

Cas snorted. "I'm not beautiful in either, Dean."

"You are," he insisted. He went on to describe what was beautiful about Cas, from the rich ever changing blue of his eyes to the soft curve of his elbow when he used a paintbrush, to his laughter and his smile, to the tiny specks of pain littered across his skin.

Cas sat speechless, before pushing himself up and throwing himself into Dean's arms. He pressed his face into Dean's shirt, feeling the safety his steady embrace.

"I love you," Cas murmured into Dean's shoulder before kissing his neck gently. Dean smiled and whispered back, before meeting Cas's lips with his own.

-

They didn't think about it until about a week later when Dean was posing for Cas for one of his final pieces. Thankfully neither of them had found it too weird transitioning this aspect of their relationship - Dean was still as perfect at modelling as ever, and Cas was more than comfortable to draw him. Perhaps more than he'd ever been before. Now he knew Dean's personality and heart and knew what made him who he was. He hoped that his art in some way portrayed that.

He looked up at his model to check the shadows across his torso and froze at the expression Dean was looking at him with. He cleared his throat anxiously. "Dean?"

"I wish I could show you how beautiful you are," Dean replied softly, his voice caressing the artist. Cas let out a tiny shiver, but he tried not to lose his composure.

He took a deep breath, realising what Dean wanted, what he needed. "You want your camera?"

Dean's eyes widened. He hadn't expected Cas to take him up on it. "Now?"

"I'm almost done, and I can work round it." Cas's eyes flickered uncertainly, and Dean realised that they'd reached a turning point: Cas was offering himself to Dean here, so that they could be artistic equals. And even though he didn't see himself as worthy of it, he wanted it more than anything.

"Please, Cas," he whispered. Cas stood and brought Dean's camera from where it sat on his art table. He placed it into Dean's hands and kissed him gently, his lips sealing something: a promise, an agreement?

It took Cas a while to get used to having a camera pointed at him. Everytime he looked up and saw the lens, he'd blush and look away, often ruining the shot Dean was trying to get. It was hard for Dean to work stood in one place, because he knew that the angle a metre over would be infinitely better. But he didn't want to move and ruin Cas's angle on him.

At the end of that drawing session, Dean was worried that this would never work, that Cas just couldn't cope with a camera being focused on him.

After Dean was dressed, he went to show Cas his photos and found him in the kitchen making coffee. Dean took a photo, and then realised that he'd left the camera on black and white setting. Cas was all lights and darks, he realised. His dark brown hair, the multitude of shadows and white highlights on his skin, the white sparkle in his eyes - that was the only thing that black and white photography ruined with Cas, it lost the blue of his eyes.

"Are you going to take one or not," a voice teased. Cas was watching him, leaning against the counter.

Dean grinned. "I already did."

Cas's eyebrows raised with surprise. "Photo ninja, are you?"

Dean's grin grew. "Looks like you're more interested in coffee than me."

Cas shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "Sometimes the way you look at that camera makes me jealous."

"Normally I'm looking at photos of you," Dean reminded him, closing the gap between them and leaning against the counter next to Cas. The artist rested his head against Dean's shoulder. "Do I get to see it?" Cas murmured.

"You want to?" Dean was unsure how much Cas enjoyed seeing himself captured in photos, and he didn't want to embarrass him more than he already seemed to have.

So Cas's insistent "please," came as a surprise. Dean found the photo and held it where they could both see, trying to gauge Cas's reaction.

It was only when Cas exhaled loudly that Dean realised he'd been holding his breath. "How do you do it?" Cas asked with helpless amazement. "How do you make me look like that?"

"This is how you look." Dean needed to emphasise this more than he'd ever had to emphasise anything else. "You are beautiful, Cas. So beautiful."

"Stop," Cas buried his head in Dean's shoulder.

"Not until you believe me," Dean kissed the top of his hair. "Do you think I'd lie to you?"

"No." Cas mumbled. "But people see things in different ways. The way you'd photograph a flower would be different to how I'd draw it."

"But the flower would still be beautiful, no matter how it was recreated or expressed."

Cas laughed. "I'm your little flower then, huh?"

"Of course." Dean smiled, but he didn't want Cas to just brush this off. "I'll stop taking photos of you if you don't like it -"

He was surprised by the intensity of Cas's gaze, and the speed with which he interupted. "No. I like it, I do. Its not easy but..." Cas swallowed. "It makes you happy, right?" Dean nodded. "Then that's good enough for me. I just -" Cas looked down at the camera in Dean's hands. "I just prefer it when you do it without me necessarily knowing." His eyes searched Dean's, asking if that was okay.

Dean breathed out with relief. "Of course." He put his camera down and pulled Cas into his arms. "Of course, that's completely fine. More than fine." He pressed his face into Cas's shoulder. "Perfect. Thank you."

"I Think I should give you something back after everything you've given me over these past few months." Cas grinned.

Dean shook his head. "Its not a competition."

"No," Cas agreed. "But I want us to be equals here. We're together, right? And I want to help you with your photography too, because you love it, and that makes me happy."

"You're too good for me, Cas Novak." Dean murmured, overwhelmed by love.

Cas smiled softly. "You'd better get used to it." He moved to pour the coffee and handed Dean a huge mug of steaming goodness. Cas grinned and clinked his own mug against Dean's in a mock toast. He grinned but his eyes were serious. "To art and us."

Dean would have rolled his eyes but he was too emotional, too amazed by how much Cas loved him. "To art and us."

-

Dean began taking his camera wherever they went - to the park, to coffee shops, on the bus to university or the shops. Sometimes he didn't take any photos when they were out, but he wanted it with him so that he could if the opportunity arose. And anyway, he didn't want to come across as some insane and frankly creepy person who went round photographing everything that his boyfriend did.

But it was when they were at Cas's apartment that Dean loved taking photographs most. Cas was so at home, so completely at ease with his artwork, and it was much easier for Cas to forget about the camera or not notice it if he was absorbed in his artwork. Dean began taking his revision for his exams over to Cas's, and would sit on the sofa while Cas drew or painted in his art space. It was much easier to photograph Cas when he didn't have to look at Dean - that had been the problem with doing it while Cas was drawing him, the artist had been far too aware of the lens - but now, Dean could be subtle without being sneaky. It did him good to have a break from revising, to be able to play around with exposure and filters for a few minutes. He got better at photographing Cas, got quicker at deciding on what setting to use, at working out the best angles to photograph Cas from to accent his features properly.

Cas didn't always ask to see what Dean had taken, but sometimes Dean showed him if he was paticularly proud of one, or if he'd tried a new setting out. Sometimes, when he couldn't have drawn another thing to save his life, Cas asked to look through everything Dean had taken. He was constantly amazed by Dean's technique and how he managed to capture his movements or expressions like that. He'd never seen himself doing artwork before these photos, and he was pleasantly surprised at how artistic he did look. Although he wished Dean would tell him that his hair was sticking up at random angles before he took a photograph.

In a way, it didn't matter to Cas whether he saw the photographs of himself or not. This was for Dean more than it was for him, it was for Dean to be happy and to expand his photographic capabilities. And just knowing that Dean gave him that much attention and love was enough for Cas. He'd found what he needed in Dean - someone who understood him and his artwork and all the quirks that made him the person he was. And to know that Dean found beauty in that was all he needed to know, he didn't necessarily need to see the product of Dean's emotions. But often he chose to, because he loved seeing Dean explain filters and exposures and lenses, loved seeing how it made him so alive.

So Cas grew to love Dean's camera, for what it symbolised in their relationship. Equality, and art, and beauty. But most of all, it symbolised Dean. And if he could love Dean's photographs and equipment even a fraction of the amount he loved Dean, that would be enough for both of them.


	9. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's exams are now upon him and Cas is doing all he can to make sure that Dean is looked after properly during them.

They basked in the glory of early summer, watching as soft greens and gentle yellows gave way to vibrant greens, the world made brighter by the brilliant sunlight that shone down on them. Their love made them see the world more vividly too: they walked through the city hand in hand pointing out the different colours and shapes in which nature saw fit to drape summer.

But all too soon it was nearing the end of the academic year and their stress began to rise. Cas fared better than Dean as his degree was purely coursework based, whereas Dean was suffering under the weight of multiple exams.

It was only when Dean fell asleep on Cas’s sofa in the early afternoon when Cas was putting the coffee on that he realised how bad it was. Dean looked completely worn out, his skin paler than Cas has ever seen it. Why hadn’t he realised that Dean was this exhausted?  
He gathered the duvet off his bed and gently laid it over Dean’s sleeping form. He tucked the duvet in around him, the thick fabric enveloping the side of his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead.

He didn’t want to leave him, but after half an hour of watching his boyfriend sleep soundly, Cas realised he had to do something. He padded to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee - because it would be no good if he fell asleep too. Even if the idea of cuddling up with Dean did sound so appealing…

Cas realised why it felt so strange to see Dean vulnerable like this. Dean was the one who always took care of Cas, helping him to struggle out of bed in the morning with a mug strong coffee and kisses, the one who made sure that Cas ate enough food, gently putting biscuits on his art desk after Cas had got too into his art and completely forgotten about food for a few hours. The one who ran out to the shop when they’d run out of milk again.  
But Dean couldn’t be expected to do that any longer, not while he had so much else to worry about. Cas was going to have to look after both of them from now on, just as Dean had done.

He checked to see if Dean was still asleep and then began looking through the cupboards for things he could make into a meal.

-

Cas made a huge conscious effort over the next few weeks. He made shopping lists and would go as often as they needed things - and although Dean still tried to bring food when he came over, after a week he was too nervous and stressed about his exams to think of anything else.

They didn’t live together at Cas’s all the time, but it was very close to being that way. Dean found it much easier to revise in Cas’s apartment than the flat he shared and besides, he wanted to be with Cas. The artist calmed him, and was looking after him, and Dean needed that.

When Dean had an exam in the morning, Cas would force himself out of bed to put coffee on, and then try and decide what Dean would want for breakfast. He wasn’t fussy, so in the end it came down to what Cas was awake enough to cook. Sometimes Dean would come through by his own accord, sometimes Cas would have to go and wake him up with the promise of coffee and waffles.

Dean knew how much effort Cas was putting into looking after him, and he vowed to himself that he would repay him a million times over. In the meantime though, he was barely managing to think beyond his exams. He just had so much to learn still and he didn't understand why, he'd worked hard throughout the year, attended all the lectures - so why was it such a struggle to remember everything?

Cas insisted that he have every Friday night off, reasoning that he'd have the whole weekend to study for the following week's exams; they always planned to go out for dinner or just take a walk together, but it always ended up with the two of them crashed out on the sofa in Cas's apartment, cuddled up under blankets with take out food watching a film. Cas didn't mind; they would have plenty of time for going out for dinner once Dean's exams were over, and besides it felt so good to have Dean so close to him, so comfortable. And the way Dean kissed him afterwards, thanking him wordlessly for taking care of him so well - well, there was nothing Cas wouldn't do for those kisses.

When the weather was sunny and there wasn't a lot of wind, they'd go to the nearby park so Dean could revise outside - Cas had read somewhere that fresh air was good for the brain and besides he thought it would be a good idea for Dean to get out of the apartment sometimes. They'd lay out a picnic blanket on the grass and lie there together, Dean trying to cram his brain with the names of politicians and important historical figures and events while Cas painted and sketched their surroundings in one of his sketchbooks; he didn't really need to do extra artwork, he'd have enough with all the life drawings he'd done of Dean and other models over the past year, but it didn't hurt to do some other artwork, of flowers and trees and buildings instead of people.

Of course, he always came back to drawing Dean.

Unlike Cas, Dean was completely unembarrassed by being artistically scrutinised at any moment of the day. He'd calmly lie on the grass, aware of Cas's attention but not reacting to it. But then, Dean had had much more experience at it than Cas had; and in the park, he did get to keep his clothes on.

Dean always took his camera with him when they went out, and when he reached the point when his brain actually couldn't cope with any more information, he'd stop and pick up his camera and spend some time photographing his surroundings until he felt able to concentrate on work again. There was something effortless and comforting about using his camera, choosing the aperture and filters and composition of the photograph. It soothed him and gave the concentrating part of his brain chance to process all the facts he'd crammed in during the past hour or so.

Cas was getting much better at being photographed, but he still blushed whenever he felt Dean train his lens on him. Which Dean found completely adorable. Using black and white settings meant that Dean could hide Cas's slight embarrassment, but then he loved the colours of Cas, especially in the summer, when the sunlight made his blue eyes sparkle even more brightly and showed up the lighter shades of brown in his hair. He got several great photographs of his boyfriend during these park revision sessions, when Cas had become so engrossed in his painting or in writing scrawling notes in his sketchbook about his various pieces and techniques. Dean felt like in these moments that he was capturing Cas in his rawest form, Cas as an artist and nothing more. It sent a thrill down Dean's spine that he was able to see this side of him, able to record a shadow of it forever in a photograph.

The park was a common place for students to study, and so there were some benefits of going there; namely, the icecream van that came most days so that they could treat themselves after their hard work and keep their sugar levels up. Cas and Dean had worked their way through all the flavours the van offered and they debated the best ones during Dean's revision breaks; Dean insisted that cherry was the best, but Cas prefered mint choc chip or pistachio.

"Only for the colour though," Dean said with a grin.

"Green is a beautiful colour," Cas pouted, which faded when he stared into Dean's gorgeous green eyes, that were sparkling with both amusement and from the sunshine. God, he was so beautiful, Cas thought, realising yet again how lucky he was to have someone as incredible as Dean.  
Dean wasn't surprised when Cas leaned forward to kiss him then; he knew Cas's looks, he knew which ones he got when he'd suddenly seen something beautiful or awe inspiring. Dean wasn't sure that he was deserving of those looks, but he was willing to wait to argue against it until Cas had finished kissing him.

"Mmm," Dean said when they pulled apart, "honey icecream goes suprisingly well with coffee."

Cas raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure, I think I'm going to have to taste again."

Dean grinned before pressing their lips back together.

-

It was all over in a rush in the end; the final week of Dean's exams were a whirlwind and he honestly didn't remember much of what happened. He almost stumbled out of his final exam, weak with relief that it was all over, it was all finally over. Now whatever happened was out of his control and there was nothing he could do about it.

He felt like he was seeing the sun for the first time as he left the exam building, blinking and grinning at the sunshine. It was such a beautiful day. And then a familiar figure was running towards him and his heart swelled so much he thought it might burst and then Cas was in his arms and he felt so alive, so loved, so free - they could whatever they wanted now, they weren't confined by exams anymore - and it made Dean feel giddy with excitement. He realised he was laughing, and that Cas was too, and then they were kissing and God, it felt like fireworks, like he was kissing Cas for the very first time again.

In those few minutes, Dean felt like he'd found heaven.

-

They went out for dinner with several of their friends; everyone had finished their exams that day, except Cas who didn't have any, so the mood was euphoric. Dean consented to singing karaoke and performed a surprisingly tuneful rendition of Robbie Williams "Angels", singing to Cas the whole time. Perhaps it was all the alcohol he'd consumed, but Cas found tears of happiness spilling down his cheeks, making Dean finish the song and coming over and kissing him right there, gaining "awws" from the crowd and cheers from their friends.

It was one of the happiest moments of Cas's life and he never wanted it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I haven't updated in so long!! I've had this chapter half finished on my phone for ages and I've only just got round to actually typing it up and finishing it off.  
> This fic is coming to the end, a couple more chapters I think - I'm going to miss it so much but I'll be glad to have something finished :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic, it means so much <3
> 
> (btw, the chapter title is a bit random but I thought it fitted with Dean's journey through exams to finding his heaven with Cas - but its late and I'm tired so that might not make any sense to anyone else :D)


End file.
